


Keep The Streets Empty For Me

by kavekavekav



Category: Tyranny (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Mid-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2021-01-13 14:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21121175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kavekavekav/pseuds/kavekavekav
Summary: A brief homecoming - the Fatebinder, returning to her Archon.





	Keep The Streets Empty For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Tittle borrowed from Fever’s Ray song
> 
> Fatebinder Reische, noble scion, the Stormbringer, the Peacebinder, sided with the Rebels.

Her Archon spoke in riddles. In a washed-out voice that echoed through the empty halls. Unspoken, stilled words gathering like a storm above the Fatebinder’s head.

“You have arrived, at last,” he settled on when she had entered the court. The door barely had a chance to close behind her and she almost startled at his boldness before she noticed the lack of witnesses.

It was late, she remembered, looking around the dim and deserted hall. She felt the exhaustion down to her bones. The lack of proper rest made her dizzy, but not enough to overlook the moment he appeared beside her, in a heap of smoke that smelt of vapor.

“Adjudicator.”

Weary, she waited on him to led her up the stairs to the room in front of his own, as he had the habit of doing, well before she became the Fatebinder.

Yet he lingered. One hand brushed her arm as if to guide but it did not stop here. He moved it higher, to rest the tips of his fingers on her cheek and the casual gesture would have filled her with dread, several years ago, but she was used to his touch, secure in the knowledge that they were at last left alone.

Except they weren’t, not really. A shadow in the corner of the room seemed to move and she took a cautious step back, away from Tunon’s outstretched hand. In the stillness of the room, she could’ve had swore she heard him sigh. But no, it couldn’t be.

They walked side by side until they reached her room, and she opened the door without a word. She didn’t say ‘good night’, or ‘sleep well’. She knew he wouldn’t.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he offered - not an order, far from a plea either - turning away, distant and out of reach, familiar.

“As you wish,” she muttered, suddenly even more tired than earlier, but when she closed the door, she left it unlocked.

Inside the room appeared the same as it did before she left months ago, with her second Edict. Now she had returned, for a moment, but it wasn’t enough to gather her strength. The bed looked inviting and she lied in it still in her armor, staining the soft linens with rust and sweat, knowing that sleep will elude her that night.

After an hour of dreamless rest, when the heat became unbearable, she shed her clothes, wrapping herself in a soft, white sheet. The material cooled off her skin and she took a deep breath through her nose, fixing her gaze on the black ceiling, counting the golden tiles.

One hundred and seventy-four. She knew the number by heart. How many nights had she spent just like that? Hidden under a coverlet, worn and bruised from training with Bleden Mark.

She must have had drifted off for a while, the sky was lighter when she opened her eyes again. Someone had brought her a bottle of ointment and a bowl of water. It was still warm, but barely, when she reached out over her nightstand to pick up the medicine. The sun was yet to rise though, and the cold, blue light brightened the room, making her skin look sickly gray.

Applying the salve, she thought about her orders, the rebels she had to trick into trusting her and blood, drying on her new gauntlets, seeping through the leather, staining her hands red.

She was brought back to the present by the sound of the door opening. A slave shuffled into the room, quiet and fearful, not aware of the Fatebinder’s watchful eyes on her.

“Fatebinder!” She gasped when her head rose high enough to notice a silhouette, seated on the bed, sleepless. “Excuse me!”

Fatebinder watched the girl, as she tried to simultaneously bow and keep the tray steady in her shaking hands. A vase, presumably filled with fresh water, swayed dangerously close to the edge and the Fatebinder couldn’t take her eyes off it. Eventually, it straightened itself, without shedding a single drop and the girl exhaled loudly, then paled, mortified.

The Fatebinder pointed to the empty table, giving the slave a signal to place the tray there. “I require a bath,” she spoke with weariness, abandoning her soft coverlets for the cold stone underneath her bare feet.

When the girl didn’t respond the Fatebinder leveled her with a curious look. Her servant was a young thing, with matted hair that looked almost white in the pale light. Her lips trembled with nerves, but her eyes remained clear and resolute, fixed low, on her thin, worn shoes. She bit her lip, stopping herself from speaking.

"What it is?" The Fatebinder sighed, trying to sound inviting. She was still tired, her short rest was interrupted by dreams. Shadows and blood. Ash and steel.

“It’s ready. The bath I mean.”

“Good,” she exhaled, coming back to reality. She focused her attention on the tray, the vase, silver plates, food. “Good. Be sure to keep the water hot for me.”

“As you wish, Fatebinder,” the girl mumbled, bowing for the last time before leavingt the room.

When the door shut with a quiet click, the Fatebinder sighed again, moving closer to the table, inspecting her breakfast. Fresh and candied fruit, smoked meat, spiced cheese. No luxuries spared for the guests of Tunon’s court.

Her hand moved mechanically, fingers curling over a fruit. She brought a piece up to her lips, the taste familiar but not comforting, not anymore. The juice stained her fingers black, a hue more vibrant than her faded tattoos. With a shake of her head, she sat down to the meal, methodically finishing her food until nothing was left on the plate.

The sun began to rise. She felt the first rays on her face, blinding her. She stood up with a grimace, wiping her hands with a cloth and dropping it over her plate, for someone else to clean later.

XXX

The golden lining sewn into the material of her new robes scratched her skin with the slightest movement of her body. By night - she was sure - there would be red marks all over her.

The walk to Tunon’s room was mercifully short, however, and she shed the upper piece of her garment, where the lining was, as soon as she had entered his rooms, leaving it in a heap by the door, uncaring about the look she will undoubtedly receive when he’ll notice the mess.

“A simple nightgown will not suffice as an armor,” she heard his voice while her eyes took a moment to accustom themselves to the darkness. It was thick here, almost palpable. “As I am sure you know.”

“Have I found myself in a need of armor then?” She mussed, running her fingers over the offending piece of clothing. The cotton was thin and silky under her dry fingertips and the edge of the tunic barely covered her knees. She had killed in less.

Tunon hummed, reading her thoughts clearly. She didn’t really have to see, to find him sitting by his tableau, with scrolls and maps lying across the desk, abandoned from the moment his door opened.

He reached a hand towards her, and she came closer, her body wedged between the edge of the table and Tunon’s chair. “Reische,” he murmured. His usual calmness, replaced by a small whisper, his words lost in the material of her tunic, when he moved to rest his masked forehead in the crook of her arm.

She didn’t ask. There was no need. She knew he would have told her, anything, had she asked, but she didn’t. He had complicated his own life enough as it was. In the Bastard City she heard a rumor, not so long ago. Other Fatebinders spoke of her long leash, calling her Tunon’s concubine, poorly hiding their jealousy over her privileges.

They were mistaken, but not by much. Each time she returned to these halls, he waited. She would come to him or he would find her later, in the safety of her rooms or his chambers, she would lay next to him, with her head perched on his lap, his robes harsh and stiff against her cheek. He would speak to her through the night, his hand resting on her head, cold, always cold.

Then he would touch her face, her closed eyelids, her nose, but never her lips, just like he did the first time she was brought to him after her victory at the court when he had chosen her for himself, took her under his wings.

From the moment she spoke, years ago at the court, when her hands didn’t shake from the adrenaline running through her veins, Tunon watched. Any fear that lingered had long since disappeared. She did what was expected of her, and more, outperforming her peers, gaining Tunon’s attention. But he was lenient with her, from the very first moment. Allowing her far more than he ought to.

And when Bleden Mark left her bloodied and exhausted, she would find a bottle of ointment on her table. A gift of comfort, a set of new clothes, a treat of candied fruit, a bottle of cider. His care was anything but selfless though. When he gave, he expected exactly as much in return.

“Tell me,” his voice called out to her and she opened her eyes against the shadows. “What occupies your mind?”

“You,” she said simply. Not a lie, not the truth either. But she always let him take what he wanted from her answers, make out of them what he wished.

“Is that so?”

Silently, she moved her hand to his cheek, sliding her fingers down. His silver mask, smooth and cold to the touch, made her hesitate for a moment too long. Tunon’s hand rose to cover hers and she expected him to take it away.

Instead, he guided her fingers until they found the edge, just under his high collar, and together they took the mask off.

There was no time to look however and the Fatebinder found herself tugged forward until her knees rested on the chair, next to Tunon’s thighs.

In the darkness of his chambers, his lips touched her forehead for a short second, there and gone again.

He held her until her body stilled in his arms and longer as her breathing slowed down, through the early morning while the sun settled high, shining over the Bastard City.


End file.
